Good Help is Really Not That Hard to Find
by snooky-9093
Summary: Another entry in the 2014 SSSW challenge. Klink has really had a bad day. And his night is getting worse. A missing scene from "Nights in Shining Armor."


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The first line is from "Gone Fishing," By: ML Miller Breedlove

Good Help is Really Not That Hard to Find

a missing scene from: "Nights in Shining Armor."

Phew. Never thought I'd get this up in time.

Plop…plop.

In an attempt to drown out the noise of the dripping faucet, he grabs the pillow cradling his head and places it over his ears.

Plop…plop.

He flips from his back to his right side.

Plop…plop.

He flips from his right side, to his back and then over to his left side.

Plop…plop.

Back on his back.

Plop…plop.

He removes the pillow, and with dexterity he didn't know he had, in one motion, he flips from his back and over onto his stomach. With his left hand, he grabs the pillow, and places it over his head, and then with both hands, holds it tightly over his ears, and sighs.

Plop…plop.

The pillow is tossed onto the floor.

Plop…plop.

Now beyond frustrated, he sits up, swings his legs over the side, places his feet in his slippers and heads towards the bathroom. His bathrobe is left on the chair.

He had believed that the French lieutenant was an experienced French plumber. A plumber that could replace the recently transferred resident camp plumber, Corporal Schneider. Why had he done something so stupid as to transfer a plumber? After all, good contractors are always hard to find-no matter what country you live in.

Next time, he swears, he'll overlook any insults about his monocle and just send the offender to the mess hall to peel potatoes.

Plop…plop.

It had been a bad day. He had lost a prisoner. He had lost the bulletproof vests. He had lost the credit for the bulletproof vests. And he had lost a working sink faucet.

He crawls underneath the sink and stares at the pipes.

If you want something done correctly, you've got to do it yourself.

Plop…Plop.

Earlier, after Schultz had tested them safely, he tried them and got soaked. So he sent for Colonel Hogan, who could barely contain his laughter. Why was he in such a good mood? Sergeant Kinchloe was then called in to try and remedy the situation.

It seemed to work. Until bedtime.

Plop…Plop.

He has no tools. He sits up, banging his head against the sink. "Damn." He crawls out from beneath the sink, and stares into the mirror at the dark circles under his eyes. He then finds the wrench Kinchloe left on the floor by the bathtub and crawls back under the sink. Wedging himself into a not so comfortable position, he tightens whatever moving parts he can find, and then slowly extricates himself.

For good measure, he tightens the hot water handle. He tightens the cold water handle. And waits.

Silence. Could it be that simple? He waits another few minutes. He hears nothing. He heads back to bed.

Pillow beneath his head and now comfortably settled in, he listens. The anticipation and fear of hearing the drip is keeping him awake.

There is no noise. He starts to doze.

Plop…Plop.

He shoots straight up in bed. He muffles his scream of frustration in the nick of time. A scream would bring in a guard. And how foolish would screaming over a leaky faucet look to a 20-year-old enlisted man?

This time, he remembers his bathrobe, but forgets his slippers. He could go to the VIP quarters, but that means getting dressed and walking outside. Besides, it is raining. He heads over to the phone and calls the guardhouse.

"I don't care what time it is, go to Barracks two. I want Colonel Hogan and the prisoner, Kinchloe, brought over here immediately." He slams down the phone and waits.

"You'd better have a good explanation for getting us up and bringing us over here," Hogan says. He appears angry, while Kinchloe stands next his C.O., a bemused and curious look on his face.

"Listen," he says.

"Listen to what?" Hogan asks, as he removes his jacket and shakes off the water. "Excuse the lack of decorum," he says sarcastically. "I had no time to get properly dressed."

"You look fine to me," he replies. "Listen."

"Pardon me, Kommandant," Kinchloe says. "But what are we listening for?"

"The sink. It's still leaking. Wait for it. The plop, plop."

"Kommandant, I'm sure I fixed it…"

He held up his hand, silencing the sergeant. "Shhh. It's very loud. Especially when it's quiet."

Hogan and Kinchloe looked at each other.

"I don't hear anything, Colonel." Hogan walks towards the bathroom, and Kinchloe follows.

He is right on their heels.

Silence.

"I swear it goes plop, plop."

"That's tough," Hogan says. "Hearing that when you're trying to sleep." He actually sounds sympathetic.

Kinchloe picks up the wrench. "I'll check it again, Kommandant." He disappears under the sink.

"It was that rat, Dubois," he says. "He sabotaged my sink."

"I doubt that," Hogan replies.

There are no sounds coming from underneath. Kinchloe pops back up. "They're as tight as they can be, sir."

"You know, this reminds of when you're sick, and then you go to the doctor, and whatever pain you had is gone," Hogan says.

"Good analogy, Colonel."

"Thanks, Kinch."

"Oh, what's the use?" He says. "I'll go to the VIP tent. I'm sorry I dragged you out here."

"Well, it's quiet now," Hogan says. "Maybe it worked its way out."

The two Americans put on their outerwear and open the door.

Plop…Plop.

"There you see!" He feels vindicated.

Kinchloe removes his jacket and heads back towards the bathroom.

"Well at least you know you aren't hearing things." Hogan removes his jacket and follows Kinchloe.

He is right on their heels.

This time, Kinchloe bangs on the pipes. He's very strong and he manages to tighten the valves a tad more. And then they wait.

"Have you seen where the drip is coming from, sir?" He asks.

"Come to think of it, I have not," he answers. "I did hear the drip when I was underneath the sink." He rubs the top of his head.

Hogan notices. "You banged your head? You're getting quite a bump there."

"It has not been a good day," he moans.

"For you, no." Hogan agrees.

"It was good for you?" he asks.

"I didn't say that," Hogan replies.

Kinchloe grins.

They wait.

Plop…Plop.

"Did you hear that?" Hogan asks. "I didn't see it drip from the faucet."

"Where did it come from?" Kinchloe dives back under the sink, and runs his fingers along the pipes. "Not from here. They're bone dry." He gracefully extricates himself and then stands up. "Must have been the hot or cold water handle." He bends over the sink, stares for a moment and runs his hand along the faucet, then the handles and finally, the basin.

"It's not the sink."

"What do you mean it's not the sink?" He asks.

Hogan runs his finger over the sink. "He means it's dry. There's no moisture in here at all."

Hogan turns, and wrapping his arms around his chest, he stares at him.

"Well, I have no idea…"

Plop…Plop.

The bathtub.

Kinchloe reaches over and opens the curtain. Sure enough, there is a little bead of moisture hanging precariously off the faucet. Very slowly, it gains momentum, and then drips.

Plop…Plop.

Kinchloe reaches over and tightens both handles.

"Did you take a bath tonight, Kommandant?"

"Yes," he replies meekly. "Can I offer you both a cup of warm milk?"


End file.
